


A Day in the Shop

by AraSigyrn, deannawol



Series: Friday Night Firefight - Bad Nights and Big Cities [9]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Interval fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 23:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraSigyrn/pseuds/AraSigyrn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/deannawol/pseuds/deannawol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the interval fics for the Silver Bullets 'Verse, this probably won't make sense without reading that.</p>
<p>"Never, EVER mouth off to the guy who maintains your brakes."<br/>-Kickstand's #1 client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in the Shop

The punk is six feet ten inches, better than half that across and wearing enough armor to stop an RPG. There are two leather gunbelts crossing his hips, holding enough firepower to run a gang block for a week and as he flexes his hands, the top two joints of his fingers slide apart just enough for the mono-edged blades to peek through.

And his breath stinks.

Cale waves a hand in front of his face, lip curling.

"Christ," he says, interrupting the latest round of insults-cribbed-off-the-daily-vidserials. "Did that rat actually die in your mouth or did it just take a dump?" 

The guy- fucked if Cale can actually remember his name right this second- sputters and starts to go red.

"Look," Cale interrupts that tantrum before it even starts. "I'm sure you're a big bad merc on the street, a'right? This? This here is my shop and the only way things are gonna go in my shop is the way I want 'em to go."

The guy's mouth flaps open and Cale glares.

"One more word, kid and I'll sell your ride as scrap."

"You wouldn't dare!" 

"That's illegal!" 

Cale turns to look at the diaper-wearing moron who said that and the kid cringes back. Cale wipes his hands very deliberately on a rag as one of the other kids whacks his intellectually-challenged buddy in the back of the head. There's a beat of awkward silence. Cale's been repairing gangbang rides for long enough to recognize the unspoken 'this never happened' pause.

"Look, kid," Cale turns back to the punk who started the whole mess. The facial-recognition software is already cross-referencing the punk with the database of outstanding customers.

*-*Gang Affiliation: Independent  
*-*Circle Affiliation: Ring of Honor  
*-*Rank:325  
*-*Vehicle: 2014 GM Wagon  
*-*Down Payment: Paid  
*-*Balance of Account: 3,851

Cale blinks away the information before it brings up the job specs. There is only one Wagon on the struts, an eye-burning orange monster with rust on the chassis and a botched armor job. Cale hasn't seen anything beyond the normal damage of a merc's ride. It’s next on Spannerz's list and the promised pick-up date isn't til Friday. That’s pretty much all Cale needs.

"Look, your car's here, we've got the parts we need and you can pick it up on Friday, like you were goddamn told." 

The punk puffs up again and Cale's EyeSpy focuses on the fluttering pulse in the guy's neck, tracking a 10% jump. The last thing Cale needs is the guy boosting his cyberware. The shop has more anti-merc defenses that the average MaxTac armory but the clean-up wipes half a day off every job in the shop and Cale has done enough overtime for one lifetime as it is.

"Kid," Cale says wryly. "Right now, I got fifteen jobs ahead of you with high-rank mercs."

The kid's heart-rate plateaus and Cale leans in.

"I also got ten jobs behind you for single digits, if you really, really want me to fuck up the queue?"

He's not lying and if the kid has half the brains of a dead mouse (or at least the standard programs for those Isotopes) that should be obvious. Cale isn't the bragging sort but his rep from San D means that pretty much every serious merc in the state uses him. There's a lot of value in having a rep for discretion and consistency. 

Mostly, Cale's cool with mercs. In his experience, the top ranks - from about 50 right on  
down to 1 - are pros. They come to his shop to do business. They get that Cale isn't interested in their rep or their history or any of the godawful glory-mongering. Cale is there to fix the goddamn car/van/AV and get paid. 

Single-digits, they get that and they like that. Keeping things on a business setting is better for everyone and it means that Cale gets a rep for being a good person to do business. Unfortunately, it also gets him problem kids like this, too invested in their own hype to realize their ass is hanging out where the whole world can see. 

"No-no, sir," the kid stutters. Smart kid. Cale's floor map helpfully updates; behind him, Ike has casually moved just enough to reveal the tags on Saracen's bike. Cale watches the kid's pupils dilate. Saracen's current top dog; the only legit rank-0 that the Ring of Honor can claim and it's a safe bet even a dumbass punk isn't going to fuck with him.

"Right," Cale turns back to the interface connector he was working on. "Door's to your left."

The punk and his buddies whisper back and forth before slouching out the door. The whole shop breathes out and Cale pretends not to hear the whoosh as the hydraulics built into Spannerz's arms and shoulders relax. He's not sure how the guy manages; he's damn sure that Spannerz makes enough in a week to upgrade the massive, old-school cyberlimbs but Spannerz never seems to get around it.

"Wow," Ike breathes out in a big rush of air. "That was some bluff, boss."

"Bluff, fuck," Cale snorts. "You shoulda seen some of the posers that we used to get back in San D. That kid wasn't shit."

"That kid was-" Ike starts and Cale straightens up.

"I don't give a shit who that kid was," Cale says firmly. "Look, we fix their bike, their car, whatever. That's what they're paying for, that's what they get. They're customers, same as everyone else."

"But he had like, three guns!!"

"Five," Cale says dryly. "If you cared to count."

Ike goes pale and Cale shares an eye-roll with Sprokket. Dumbass East Coast wusses.

"Look," Cale says as kindly as he can manage, given that he's got a shitload of work to do and hot date that is damn well not gonna wait and the clock's ticking. "Just don't start anything with them. The defenses will drop any of them that starting acting out and we'll take the cost of cleaning out of the Ring's indemnity fund. Treat them like a customer."

"S-sure," Ike bends back to the job in hand and Cale sighs. Looks like he'll be trawling through the applications again tomorrow. 

Pushing all of that out of his mind, Cale turns back to the half connected interface connector when the flashing green icon in the upper left of his vision alerts him to an incoming call. Cale hooks the earpiece off the toolbox and slides it into place.

"You got Kickstand, this better be good." 

"Is it ready yet?" 

Cale straightens up and blinks away the call alert, letting his optics return to baseline. He takes a second to move the ray of micro-wrenches to one side and take a proper seat. Then he rolls his head and lets a little of the tension drain out of his neck and shoulders and smiles. "Good to hear from you, asshole. No, I'm fine. Nice of you to ask though."

Kris' exasperated sigh just makes him smile wider. "Fine! Good morning, Cale. You should have eaten your breakfast. Your newest customer has just closed a garage door on his new ride and is planning to claim it was existing damage. The punk who was just in is about five hundred bucks short of your bill and freaking that he won't have the money it time but he's just taken a two grand job that'll be done by Thursday. Spannerz has put the busted rig back in that GM because Wrench's new overalls distracted him and if he keeps upping the multimeter voltage, he's going to fry the starter. Happy?"

"Knew I shouldn't have installed those cameras," Cale says, just to hear Kris mutter darkly to himself before he mutes the call. "SPANNERZ!" 

"THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!" 

"TAKE THE DAMN RIG OUT AND MAKE SURE YOU PUT THE NEW TRANSISTOR IN THIS TIME, DUMBASS!" Cale snatches a quick breath. "AND STOP OGLING WRENCH'S ASS ON THE CLOCK. I'M NOT PAYING YOU TO PERV!"

Whatever Spannerz is planning to holler back is cut off by the meaty thunk of a 15/18.5 sprocket bouncing off the back of his head from Bay 5 where Wrench had been working on a ATV. Cale sighs and raises his voice again, this time over the rumble of laughter from the rest of the shop.

"WRENCH, YOU CONCUSS HIM AND YOU'RE DOING HIS JOBS 'TIL THE DOC LETS HIM BACK," Cale warns. "ON _TOP_ OF YOURS! GOT ME?"

"YES, BOSS!" There's still more snickering but the clang of metal and the acetylene hiss of torches starts up again and Cale sighs deeper. Worse than fucking kindergartners, he swears. There are times when Cale thinks he's the biggest fool on God's grey earth.

Kris is laughing quietly when Cale unmutes the line. Despite himself, Cale's lips twitch. Kris still doesn't laugh as loud as he used to but it's easier to make him laugh these days. Cale's glad for that. He's less glad that he needs to listen to the soft wheeze under the amusement and that he doesn't even need to check the doc's notes to know what he's listening for.

Cale's always worried about Kris. Hell, most of their lives, Cale's been the only one who did and even knowing, sure as he knows that Dorzio makes the best damn bikes in the world (Kate excepted) that Silverfyre wouldn't ever leave Kris alone if he was poorly, Cale worries all the same.

Alli doesn't hold it against him, something Kris doesn't get and Cale is eternally grateful for. Kris never thinks of what he did - does - as dangerous, never really thinks about risks beyond the obvious. Kris still believes that Cale would be better off if Kris disappeared than if he had to run from a corp.

Cale loves Kris but his little brother is a goddamn fucking moron.

"Some things never change," Kris says finally over a cough.

"Yuuup," Cale deliberately thickens his accent. All around him, his guys are bent over their tools. Cale likes the shop best like this, filled with noise and people, even the occasional argument. The new lighting system's bright enough that Cale could count the hairs on the back of Slick's neck if he ever feels the need. The luminescent lights are set into the ceiling; first time he'd seen them switched on, Cale thought they made the garage seem like a church. Cale doesn't remember that much about the churches they'd had back home but he finds himself half planning to get some more pinboards and whiteboards in to chase away the last of the unsettled feeling lurking in his belly all the same.

The rattle of the wind against the windows makes him shiver though he's tucked away in a corner with a spinning fan heater. Ike had the doors open as he and Wench wheeled in the ATV from the paint shop and now that he isn't distracted, Cale's bio-monitor's warning him that ambient temperature is in the 'cold' region. Just about the only thing Cale does miss about San D is the weather.

New York on its best day is worse than San D on its worst and without his protective layer of grease, Cale starts to feel the chill. 

"So yeah," he says easy and conversational. "The frame arrived this morning. All the spare parts and everything. Special Delivery."

There's a guilty pause on the other end of the line and Cale pinches the bridge of his nose. " _Kris_..."

"It wasn't me," Kris says too fast, tripping over his words like he's a preschooler. "I mean, I asked Val to look into it and I told her she could borrow the guys but it wasn't _me_!" 

"Uh-huh," Cale breathes out. "You have to be careful. You promised to be careful. You remember that part, right?" 

"No," Kris grumbles. "I somehow managed to miss the same spiel from four different doctors and Nakamura and you and Fyre and Firecracker and Scarlett and Cheeks and you and Fyre." 

"If we thought you'd pay a blind bit of attention to what we were telling you, we wouldn't have to repeat ourselves," Cale says, unmoved. "If I catch you taking damn fool risks again, not only am I gonna bar you from the shop but I'mma tell your boy."

"Don't!" Kris sounds panicky and Cale's heartrate jumps in sympathy. "He's got all those tour dates to make up and he's doing really well but he can't flake or they'll-"

"-drop him from the label," Cale finishes. 

Based on Cale's understanding of the world of the music industry as explained to him by his lady love, 'Fyre was the hottest artist to break out in the last year and Silverfyre's management were confidentially expecting him to sweep up at least a dozen awards in the spring. Short of murdering a kitten on live national broadcast, 'Fyre's music career looked to be damn near bullet-proof. Even if it wasn't, Cale's confident that 'Fyre would put Kris' health over the demands of the suits.

"I'm getting predictable," Kris notes, laughing a little like he wasn't just freaking out. Cale makes a note to talk to Fyre about the latest round of medication. It's not like Kris doesn't get irrational when he thinks he's being a burden but he's being a little paranoid, even for him. "But I can come down today, right?"

"Who's driving you?" Cale demands. 

"Scarlett," Cale could practically see the shrug. "Says she wants some time to talk."

"That's good," Cale nods. Scarlett may be the best socialized ex-merc that Cale knows. He's not sure that's a compliment but Scarlett does genuinely like Kris and she doesn't leave him jittery or worn out the way Cheeks does. She's also got the sense to stay the hell out of the mess between Kris and Frankie which automatically makes her smarter than just about everyone else that comes calling. Cale wouldn't admit if he was strapped to a rack, but it did make her smarter that Firecracker in that respect. He loves his lady but she's got a lot to learn about the guys under the street names of Juniper and Glitch. "She's solid." 

"Solid enough that she's not even thinking of moving unless I get your okay," Kris grumbles.

"Knew I liked that girl for a reason," Cale grins. "All right, come on down then but don't even think of bringing any tools or I will send you straight back."

"Sure," Kris lies lightly.

"I mean it," Cale warns. "His birthday ain't for another three weeks."

"I know but-"

Cale doesn't actually need Kris to finish that sentence to know what he's going to say. Holidays had been a nightmare - despite having three separate vaccinations and two rounds of booster nanites, Kris had managed to catch bronchitis, _not notice_ and by the time he finally agreed to see a doc, was diagnosed with pneumonia on top of everything else. The shared holidays had mostly been spent in hospital rooms and to top the whole disaster off? Kris had been reamed out by an asshole from Gunfire with an overinflated sense of his own importance for 'endangering the product' while still in his damn hospital bed.

Hadn't been any of them in the holiday spirit after that.

"It'll be done," he promises. "I'll rebuild from the chassis out if I need to." 

"I trust you, man," Kris protests. "I do, I just-"

"Want it to be perfect," Cale heaves a dramatic sigh. "Well, I knew you'd grow up to be a real girl one of these days."

"Fuck you," Kris laughs again, sounding almost surprised by it.

"Look, let me finish stripping her down," Cale says seriously. "That's gonna take another couple of hours, you can drop by over lunch and we'll see how it goes."

Kris hesitates and prevaricates but he's flagging even just talking on the phone and Cale even manages to get him to promise to take a nap before he comes. Kris yawns through most of the goodbyes and Cale shakes his head as he hangs up.

'She' is on the lift in front of him and Cale takes a second to look her over. He's still not sure where she came from or what sort of crazy dealing and hacking Kris had to do to find her but holy mother of all that is good, does Cale like to look at her.

She's a little rusty around the wheel arches, gears are stripped and she's missing about half her paintjob but she's still goddamn beautiful.

She's a Dorzio TSR mark 1 - a 'Solo' combat zone special.

Nearly as old as Kris but still the greatest bike ever built. There isn't a merc in the world who wouldn't give his gun plugs for the keys and Cale has a whole schematic for a next generation interface and weapons system floating in the holo-frame. Thanks to his stupid brother, Cale also has all the parts he's gonna need and a couple of perks that will turn this beauty from something other mercs want into something they'll sell their guns and screw their fixer for.

Silverfyre is the luckiest man in NYC, and Cale pats her fuel tank as he stands up and starts plugging in the various tools he's going to need and sorting the flickering neon menus. The radio starts to play some old, heavy rock - a song Cale knows by heart but not by name. It's an old song, one that's all about the open road and the feel of a powerful engine between your legs. It's his kinda song.

Humming along with the bass line, Cale gets to work.


End file.
